


A Cottage In Perthshire

by fitz-and-simmons (fitzandjemma)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, jemma musing on a life in a cottage in perthshire, like the teeniest will mention but barely, post 3.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzandjemma/pseuds/fitz-and-simmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To cope on the planet Jemma imagines a life with Fitz. </p><p>~~~</p><p>As she drags herself on, into the neverending desert, she imagines what the rooms would be like. How big they are, how she might decorate them, where she might put things. Whichever room she starts on, it all inevitably comes back to Fitz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cottage In Perthshire

**Author's Note:**

> So I basically wrote this all in one after 3.07 and those official spoilers (YOU KNOW THE ONE I MEAN) spurred me to post it as somewhere to focus my energy. It's a lil bit rushed sorry.

The crushing weight of the hunger pangs, the thirst, the ache in her muscles, and the boredom combined are almost enough to make her give up. To just lie down in the dirt and die there, her flesh decomposing and her skin rotting, leaving a skeleton in her wake. To embrace the numbing darkness.

To distract herself she often finds her mind wandering to a cottage in Perthshire. She remembers it had red ivy crawling up the sides and smoke puffing from the chimney. The light of the fire blazed merrily through the window, and it had just seemed so cozy and picturesque. She had only seen it for a few seconds from the back of a packed car when she was little, but it caught her somehow.

As she drags herself on, into the neverending desert, she imagines what the rooms would be like. How big they are, how she might decorate them, where she might put things. Whichever room she starts on, it all inevitably comes back to Fitz.

Bathroom. His toothbrush next to hers, his shampoo, his deodrant, his razors. She might get him a novelty towel and then use it herself anyway. She would lightly scold him when he got water all over the floor. There most likely wouldn’t be enough room for a bath but perhaps a shower large enough for the two of them?

Kitchen. His endless snacks everywhere, sugar next to the kettle, pesto aioli in the fridge, silly tea towels and an oven mitt with a dalek on it. A little table with two chairs and a couple of large mugs. She’d try and get him to cook things that weren’t just varying shades of brown, he’d remind her to eat proper food when she forgot.

Perhaps they could even convert a room into a small lab. Legally of course. It’d be hard but with the right workmen and budget it could be done. There’d barely be enough room for the two of them but it’d be enough for mucking around and writing bizarre papers for the shits and giggles. Maybe she might even become a science teacher for a few years.

Living room. A squashy sofa, bookshelves lining the walls for their combined library, a little TV and DVD collection, a blazing fire, fuzzy carpets, large windows overlooking the gorgeous countryside, viewable from the built in love seat. The sofa would be too short so when they lay down their legs would go up and over the armrest, their feet drooping and entwined. Perhaps an electric fire would be easier and burn less fossil fuel, but she can’t give up her vision of a crackling log fire blazing merrily whilst they lazily make love on the ancient sofa.

Bedroom, most important of all. Here is where she doubts herself. There’s a double bed in the middle and a bedside table on either side and a cupboard for their clothes but the details are uncertain. He’s always had rather nondescript sheets, even at the Academy. Would he still want those now or would he want to leave the grey, standard issue look behind him? Will his eyesight fade, will he one day have glasses on his table? Would they keep the condoms in her drawer or his? Both? What kind of artwork would he like, what colours? What kind of pajamas would he wear to stave off the Scottish chill? When he slept would he move around the bed or stay in the same place? Would they fit in each other's arms or would he roll away from her?

It is in the bedroom she misses him most.

Vague childhood memories of bluebell filled woods become dreams of walks with hands held, picnics where she smudges icing on the end of his nose and kisses it off, exploring bridges that smell of magic. They could buy hiking boots and become avid walkers, if that’s what Fitz wanted.

Sometimes she goes further, imagines marriage and gold rings and hyphenating her name and introducing him as ‘Fitz, my husband’. She never thinks too much about the wedding itself, just that their families will be there and her SHIELD friends and she thinks she would quite like to wear a white dress and see Fitz in a tux. Perhaps later on, curly haired children with his blue eyes and Scottish accent. She doesn’t focus too much on their names and genders but she knows they have his good heart and her insatiable curiosity.

And one day these children would leave for pastures new and yet again it would be her and Fitz, grey haired with laughter lines. They would retire and live off their patent money. Perhaps they could even travel a little, though god knows right now she feels like she’s done enough of that for a lifetime. But maybe after so many years he’ll persuade her somewhere hot with monkeys and no aliens to muck things up.

She never goes much further than that. It has the potential to be so sad. After all, there is a history of Alzheimer's in the Simmons family.

And so it repeats, day after weary day. Sometimes it differs. Some days she moves the cottage nearer a large lab facility and some days she foregoes the lab all together. She’ll make the cottage bigger to fit the children in or she’ll keep it just the two of them. Maybe she’ll actually go to medical school, become a proper doctor and still do some small scale good. Maybe she’ll just stay at home.

It starts to fade a little as her hope is drained from her body. She cannot recall if the roof was thatched or not. She loses a little of the fireplace.

Until one day, like her message in a bottle, it is shattered entirely. And she is left with, what? Blue. Dust. A tall man with whom she was now close. It would have to be enough.

She watches her curly haired children drift away and mourns their loss. She tries not to think about the future anymore.

Until one day a sandstorm hits and suddenly she is home again, in a pit surrounded by her friends. In his arms. Jemma looks up into Fitz’s joyful, relieved eyes and she is assaulted with visions of a cottage in Perthshire.

 **  
**Maybe one day.

**Author's Note:**

> The Alzheimer's fears are a reflection of my own. Again, it's rushed and weird but I needed somewhere to put my energy. 
> 
> If you liked it please let me know :)


End file.
